Star Risk - 02 Scoundrel Worlds (14 page)

Von Baldur peered around a brick wall. The neighborhood had improved�he was less than ten blocks from his hotel in a straight dash. He'd cut across this street, down an alley, and zig his way to home and�

And three cargo lifters landed in the center of the street. Cops in riot gear debouched, formed up in line, and swept toward him.

Von Baldur took to his heels, cursing under his breath. The whole damned Tristan police force was out now, with nothing better to do than look for Friedrich.

Obviously, he thought morosely, L'Pellerin and his DIB hadn't been very successful at inserting agents here on Torguth, or these flatties wouldn't be spending so much time after him, clearly excited at the thought of actually finding a real Damperian spy.

At least it was dusk, getting dark.

Von Baldur rounded a corner, then went back the way he'd come. Yet another line of cops was sweeping toward him.

He went down an alley, through somebody's back yard, into another street that, thankfully, didn't have its complement of police.

Yet.

By then it was full dark, and von Baldur was trapped. He crouched behind a reeking garbage can, and looked down two blocks, at a police line. Behind him, nearing the mouth of the street he'd just left, was another swarm of the bastards.

It looked as if he was well and truly cornered.

There were too many for him to be able to shoot his way through. Besides, he'd rather take his chances on arrest and trial rather than being gunned down as a cop killer, although he was already at risk for that.

There had to be a way out. He found it, although it was about as degenerate an escape as could be imagined.

Von Baldur took out his pistol, buried it deep in the garbage can along with the wig, then crept across the street toward an open, lit window. He slipped into the shabby yard, and to that window.

Inside, a young boy, about eight, was getting undressed and into his pajamas. Von Baldur pressed himself close against the window, steaming it up with his breath.

Behind him, he could hear the soft boot heels of the oncoming police and muttered orders. Perhaps, just perhaps, they'd move right on past him, and he'd be able to�

"Hey!" the shout came. "Lookat that?"

"What� I got him� that old bastard!"

Running footsteps. Von Baldur turned, pretending surprise.

"Hello, officers, I was just�"

"Friggin' pervert," one of the two cops rushing him growled, and a gasgun hissed.

Von Baldur held his breath, but still caught enough of it to drop him, swimmy-headed, into near unconsciousness.

"Whacher got?" the desk sergeant said.

"Goddamned peepin' tom," one of the two cops dragging the limp von Baldur into the station house said.

He was coming groggily back to consciousness.

"We were out on that sweep, looking for that spy, and spotted this creep eyeballin' a little kid getting naked," the other cop said.

"Bastard," the desk sergeant spat. "What'd he have on him?"

"Not much," the first cop said. "Just a few credits."

The big wad of money von Baldur had when the cops jumped him had somehow vanished. Von Baldur felt anger, then tucked the emotion away with the other things he could brood on when he was sleepless. Besides, it wasn't really von Baldur's money, but Reynard's.

"Any ID?"

"Lemme see here."

Von Baldur felt his pockets being rummaged through.

"Yeh. A passport. He's some kinda offworlder. From� Hastings."

"Never heard of the place," the desk sergeant said.

"We're charging him with violations of PC 2418, Attempting to corrupt a minor; PC 2287, Child pornography; PC 1243, Resisting arrest; PC 090, Attempting to mislead an officer performing his duty," the second cop said.

"That's pretty good," the desk sergeant said. "I'll think up some others. You two want to pitch him in a holding cell, then get back out with the rest of the shift.

"There'll be big, big points for anybody nailing that spy. A lot bigger'n for this pervert."

"We're on our way," the first cop said.

There were four others in the holding cell, which was bare except for a stainless steel toilet, a washbasin, and a dozen mattresses and folded blankets on the floor. Three of the four were conscious.

"Got a baby-raper here for you to play with," the first cop said, and closed and locked the cell. "Nice offworlder."

"Sleep tight," the second cop mocked. "And keep one hand over your butt, although I don't think that'll help any."

The first cop laughed. "Hell, maybe you'll meet your new boyfriend here."

Their footsteps went down the hall, and the door clanged shut. Von Baldur went to one of the unoccupied mattresses and sat down.

The jail smelled about like most of the ones he'd been in over the years.

One of the three conscious prisoners was a truck. The second was medium-sized, but had enough scars to prove he didn't mind a good brawl. The third was wizened, small. Von Baldur immediately knew him to be the instigator.

"A kiddie-shafter," the little one said. "Nobody likes those."

Von Baldur didn't answer.

"Comin' in from some offworld� maybe some armpit like Dampier, where they �lows things like that," the truck growled. "Oughta be taught how Torguth treats people like you."

The medium-sized goon nodded excitedly.

Von Baldur sighed, got to his feet.

"Maybe you wanna take down those pants, nice fancy like they are," the little prisoner said. "Don't want to get bloodstains on them." He giggled.

Von Baldur smiled, and stepped toward the biggest goon. Without buildup, he kicked him hard in the kneecap.

The man yowled, grabbed his leg, started hopping around.

The medium-sized man found a rather wobbly martial arts stance, instepped toward von Baldur.

Von Baldur waited until one foot was in the air, sidestepped, came in on the man's off side, and gave him a gentle push against his axis of movement. The man stumbled, fell against the small man.

Von Baldur came in fast, hit the medium-sized man very hard with the back of his fist in the face, spread his nose from his eyebrows to chin.

Friedrich didn't stop moving, but spin-kicked the big man in the side, heard ribs crack. He hit him hard twice in the gut, and the man went down.

"Now, shortie," von Baldur said. "Are we going to continue this nonsense, or am I going to be allowed a night's sleep?"

The little man, shaking his head rapidly, was backing away, holding his hands up.

"Then go sit down and shut up," von Baldur ordered.

The lawyer eyed von Baldur with distaste. "I have no idea how your crime is handled on your home planet, Lord William. But it is dealt with most severely here."

"Is it not alleged crime?" von Baldur asked.

The lawyer shrugged. "The evidence the police will present is most conclusive. However, I shall do what I can do.

"You should be aware that the maximum penalty for your offense is five years penal servitude, mandatory, plus anti-testosterone injections to ensure you'll no longer be a threat to society."

Von Baldur covered his wince. Maybe his brilliant plan wasn't as brilliant as he thought.

"But there is a possibility," the lawyer mused. "Hmm. Yes."

The judge glowered at von Baldur.

"Were you not a citizen of a foreign world, I would be delighted to pronounce sentence on you after you were found guilty.

"But Torguth does not have the time or energy to deal with foreign trash.

"You are hereby ordered deported, and turned over to an appropriate Alliance official when one arrives in this system. You will be held on one of our orbital stations until then, or, if no official presents himself within a reasonable time, to be put on the first transport headed in the direction of your home world, under custody."

Von Baldur looked at the ruins of his suitcases and new wardrobe that'd been delivered to him in the spaceport holding facility. Someone who clearly didn't like pedophiles had gone through his clothes and what wasn't ripped had been despoiled.

However, he wasn't that disappointed. The lifter taking him to the airport had wire mesh over its windows. Loose wire mesh. Von Baldur now had bits of heavy wire hidden about him that would make an ideal lock-pick to open the manacles and leg irons he was held in.

And no one had torn the padded ends off his new suitcases. Von Baldur had replaced the padding with credits. Also, the suitcase bottom that had held the four punch-out pistols hadn't been taken away. There was still one gun to be punched out, and there was still ammunition in the case handles, although he didn't think he'd need it.

There were three other criminals being deported with him, who appeared resigned to their fate. They would provide an excellent smoke screen for von Baldur, and he tried to appear as defeated as they were.

Once they reached the orbital station, and someone started going crazy looking for the nonexistent world of Hastings, von Baldur could busy himself getting free, out of custody, and headed out of the Torguth System.

It was not the first, nor the fifth, time he'd used a space station to transship himself somewhere other than where he was supposed to be going.

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TWENTY-SIX � ^ � M'chel Riss waited impatiently at the spaceport. Von Baldur hadn't sounded as usually cocky when he'd commed Star Risk. She wondered if things had gone wrong in the Torguth Worlds.

She also wondered why von Baldur was coming in on a tour ship from some unknown world that was way the hell away from Torguth. But she'd made her way to Montrois's primary port, and was leaning against a column, watching the cruise ship unload.

Riss marveled at the way people dressed when they were on vacation, as if sense and propriety weren't required, and a tourist could dress�or undress�as he or she wanted.

M'chel shuddered, turning away from a woman who must have weighed close to 200 kilos, wearing a diaphanous scarf across her hobbling breasts that sagged to mid-chest, with bodyless hair bleached and then stained in three colors as she waddled past, screeching for her two evident sons, almost as heavy, to follow her.

Just behind her was another poor specimen. A hunch-shouldered man, whose job must be selling the least commercial of items, shambled forward. He oozed defeat, from his crumpled, loud, hand-woven hat to his brightly colored sandals. In addition, the poor bastard had a purplish birthmark splattered across one side of his face that he'd never had removed.

Riss had a moment to thank a god or two that at least she hadn't been born like those two, let alone the poor damned children, when the salesman stopped beside her.

"Let us get out of this place at once," von Baldur said.

"Good god," Riss managed.

"No," von Baldur said. "No, he is not. But we can discuss theology while we are on our way back to headquarters. Or," he corrected himself, "after we stop at a decent clothing store, and then a restaurant so I can wash the taste of that abysmal slop they called gourmet dining among the stars out of my mouth.

"It has not been a wonderful month for me. Not wonderful at all."

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TWENTY-SEVEN � ^ � Reynard listened closely as Star Risk gave him what information they'd developed, without mentioning von Baldur's trip to Tristan.

"The most important thing we have learned," von Baldur finished, "is that there is an agent within Ha�a mole�who is still operational. And L'Pellerin and the DIB, in spite of his boasts, haven't been able to uncover him or her or maybe they."

"I've always been skeptical of that man," Reynard said. "He postures too much about knowing everything about everyone. When I return to the government, I shall certainly be considering his replacement."

"We have other things to worry about first," Riss said. "Such as getting Sufyerd out of the lethal chamber."

"A question," Goodnight said. "Sufyerd's been tried and convicted. What does it take to appeal a court-martial, or, if he's been turned down on appeal, to reopen the case around these parts?"

"Obviously, it takes being able to produce the real culprit or overwhelming evidence of the convicted person's innocence," Reynard said. "Or else proof of malfeasance by the court."

"It seems to me," Grok said, "that we maybe ought to be taking this in small steps. For instance, can we get enough evidence� of any sort� to confuse the issue, and get Sufyerd transferred off that satellite on the thinnest of pretexts?"

"What good would that do?" Reynard asked. "He'll still be under sentence of death."

"Right," Goodnight said. "But the farther he is from the gas chamber, the longer it'll take for the bastards to kill him."

"Oh," Reynard said. "But of course. Forgive my thickness."

"If we could get our hands on those letters between Hyla Adrianopole and Ladier," Jasmine King said, "that might give us some evidence."

"Half of Montrois wants to read those letters, the other half seems to want to burn them," Reynard said. "Do you have anything that might help us find them?"

"The Pacifist is still running teasers, as I believe they're called, that the letters will run," Grok said, "in spite of the murder of Fall, the editor. I would guess they would begin running when the trial starts."

"Which is in two weeks," King said.

"I'll work on that end," von Baldur said, deliberately vague.

"In the meantime," Riss said, "we want to find and talk to those other three members of Sufyerd's cell in Ha, and Sufyerd's boss. Caranis has told us to piddle up a rope, so we'll get no cooperation from him. Can you get us any leads on the four?"

"Probably," Reynard said. "Almost certainly."

He sighed, rose. "We seem to be making small, if definite, progress, in spite of the money I've spent," he said a bit mournfully. "But I see no other course but to hammer on."

"One other thing," Goodnight asked. "Maybe you could get a location on Cerberus Systems's headquarters and suboffices, if any, for us?"